Aftermath
by lumidescent
Summary: Monaka living in the aftermath of the Towa City riots. One-shot.


_"Pew, pew!"_

A cheerful-sounding voice rings out, and digital bullets onscreen hurtle towards the enemy ships, making quick work of them. It's a bit of a repetitive game, sure, especially after the first five rounds or so, but it's a distraction. It's better than nothing. Suddenly, the screen goes black, leaving you to look at your face reflected in the screen. You frown.  
"... Out of battery," comes the sigh, and the game is tossed aside. Of course.

Your name is Monaka Towa, and you were supposed to be her successor. Fists clench. You shouldn't be getting so upset over a dumb, boring game, you know that, but you _are_. That's all it takes to send you into a spiraling mess. Frustration at the game quickly turns to frustration at yourself. If you'd remembered to charge it, maybe it wouldn't have died like that. What an idiot. You're so _**stupid**_ , Monaka. How do you forget to charge it? You're just a stupid child who hates herself for the most idiotic reasons like video games.

Your name is Monaka Towa, and you are a failure.  
It's as the frustration begins to subside that the quiet around you sinks in, not masked by the sounds of video games anymore. Your secret base is located in a large building. It's very tall, but your main base of operations is in the basement. It's secured by traps, security cameras, and Monokumas. Like there's anything to worry about in the first place. It's quiet. It's always quiet. You had a Servant once, but ever since he got taken away, the quiet has become normal. And you've unfortunately gotten used to it, as much as you hate it. Sure, you've got Monokuma Kids and Monokumas hanging around, but they're really not very good company. They only do as they're told.

In moments like this, where the world around you feels lifeless and silent, you can't help but wonder about your friends— ex-friends, rather— and how they're doing. You hate it, but thoughts of them always seem to creep back into your head. The fearless Hero, the self-hating Priest, the 'adorbs' Fighter, and the wise Sage.

You hate thinking about them. You hate yourself for thinking about them. It's been months— maybe a year, now— and you still can't get them out of your head. You sacrificed them in order to complete your plan. They aren't _dead_ — you made sure of that. _For despair,_ you'd always told yourself. What's more despairing than having your closest friend betray you? You ignore the pit in your stomach, the one that forms at even the _thought_ of living in a world without them.

You hate thinking about the fact that you loved them. That you probably still love them. And you hate thinking about the fact that they loved you. That they were the only living people in the world who still cared about you. And how much they must hate you, now. You try to ignore the sickening, awful feeling creeping up on you as you remember how you threw them away for a plan that failed. How it was all for nothing. How cripplingly (ha, it's funny because you really are crippled, now) lonely you are.

You _hate_ it. You hate _everything_ — you hate this _feeling_. You hate _despair_ , and you hate _hope_. But more than anything, you hate _yourself_. For being so stupid. For being so worthless. For being so unlovable. For existing.

Your chest aches. It almost always does. That's why you need to distract yourself. But now, in the quiet, you have nothing, and you can't stop the tears that form in the corners of your eyes. You screw up your face, just trying to keep yourself from crying, but you try to inhale and a stifled sob escapes. You find yourself choking, suffocating in the sobs you can't seem to stop.

You shift from your spot on the floor, reaching to pull a stuffed Monokuma closer. Burying your face against it, in a pitiful attempt to get comfort from it. You can hug it, and maybe you can pretend that it's someone— some imaginary person, who still cares about you. Someone who loves you. Oh, but you know better than that. As much as you want to pretend, nothing can change the facts of the situation.

Your name is Monaka Towa, and you were supposed to be her successor.  
Your name is Monaka Towa, and you are a failure.  
Your name is Monaka Towa, and you threw away everything you had.  
Your name is Monaka Towa, and no one loves you.  
Your name is Monaka Towa, and you are alone.


End file.
